Indeed, the giant, two feet taller, hundreds of pounds heavier, seemed to gain an advantage, and the man started to bend under the press, his legs began to tremble.
On the giant pushed, the timbre of its growl going from determination to victory as the mighty man bent.
But he was of the tundra, he was Icewind Dale. By birth and by heritage, he was Icewind Dale—indomitable, indefatigable, timeless, and unbending. His legs locked, as sturdy as young oaks, and the verbeeg could press no more.
“I…am…the…son…of…” he began, driving the giant back to even, and after a grunt and a renewed push that had him gaining more ground, he finished, “…Icewind…Dale!”
He roared and drove on. “I am the son of Icewind Dale!” he cried, and roared and roared and forced his arms downward, bending the stubborn verbeeg to a more upright, less powerful stance.
“I am the son of Icewind Dale!” he yelled again, and the goblins yelped and fled, and the verbeeg groaned.
He growled and pushed on with more fury and stunning strength. He bent the verbeeg awkwardly and it tried to twist away, but he had it and he pressed relentlessly. Bones started to crack.
“I am the son of Icewind Dale!” he cried, and his legs churned as he twisted and bent the giant. He had it down to its knees, bending it backward, shoulders leaning. A sudden and violent thrust and roar ended the resistance, shattering the verbeeg’s spine.
Still the man drove on. “I am the son of Icewind Dale!” he proclaimed again.
He stepped back and grabbed the groaning, dying giant by the throat and the crotch and lifted it above him as he stood, as easily as if it weighed no more than one of its goblin minions.
“I am the son of Beornegar!” the victor cried, and he threw the verbeeg against the wall.
CHAPTER 24
AN ADVISOR NO MORE
Y ou’re keeping Suljack alive?” old Rethnor asked Kensidan as they walked together along the decorated halls of the palace of Ship Rethnor.
“I gave him the dwarf,” Kensidan replied. “I was beginning to find the little beast annoying anyway. He was starting to speak in rhymes—something his former master warned me about.”
“Former master?” the old man said with a wry grin.
“Yes, father, I agree,” the Crow replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I trust them only because I know that our best interests converge and lead us to the same place.”
Rethnor nodded.
“But I cannot allow Baram and Taerl to kill Suljack—and I believe they want to do that very thing after seeing him on the dais with Deudermont.”
“Sitting behind Deudermont has angered them so?”
“No, but it has presented the two with an opportunity they shan’t pass up,” Kensidan explained. “Kurth has bottled up his forces on Closeguard Island, riding out the storm. I’ve no doubt that he is instigating many of the fights on the mainland, but he wants the corpse of Luskan a bit more dead before he swoops upon her like a hungry vulture. Baram and Taerl believe that I’m wounded at present, because I was so strongly in Deudermont’s court, and also, of course, because there has been no formal transition of power from you to me. To their thinking, the destruction of the Hosttower caused such devastation across the city that even my own followers are reeling and unsure, and so won’t follow my commands into battle.”
“Now why would Baram and Taerl think such a thing about the loyal foot-soldiers of Ship Rethnor?” the high captain asked.
“Why indeed?” replied the coy Kensidan, and Rethnor nodded again, smiling widely, the grin revealing that he thought his son played it perfectly.
“So you and Kurth have closed up,” Rethnor said. “You didn’t even appear at Deudermont’s inauguration. Any gains to be made on the street by the other three lesser high captains have to be made now, and quickly, before either of you two, or Deudermont, comes out and crushes it all. Just to add a bit of fire to that smokepowder, you put Suljack on the stage with Deudermont, all the excuse that Taerl and Baram need.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“But don’t let them get to him,” Rethnor warned. “You’ll be needing Suljack before this mess has ended. He’s a fool, but a useful one.”
“The dwarf will keep him safe. For now.”
They came to the intersection of hallways leading to their respective rooms then, and parted ways, but not before Rethnor leaned over and kissed Kensidan on the forehead, a sign of great respect.
The old man shuffled down the corridor and through his bedroom door. “My son,” he whispered, full of contentment.
He knew then, without doubt, that he had chosen right in turning Ship Rethnor over to Kensidan, instead of his other son, Bronwin, who was hardly ever in the city of late. Bronwin had been a disappointment to Rethnor, for he never seemed to be able to look beyond his most immediate needs, for treasure or for women, nor did he show any capacity for patience in satiating his many hungers. But Kensidan, the one they called the Crow, had more than made up for Bronwin’s failings. Kensidan was every bit as cunning as his father, indeed, and probably even more so.
Rethnor lay down with that thought in mind, and it was a good last thought.
For he never awakened.
He hustled her along the rain-soaked dark streets, taking great pains to keep the large cloak wrapped about her. He constantly glanced around—left, right, behind them—and more than once put a hand to the dagger at his belt.
Lightning split the sky and revealed many other people out in the torrent, huddled in alleyways and under awnings, or, pathetically, in the jamb of a doorway, as if trying to draw comfort out of mere proximity to a house.
The couple finally got to the dock section, leaving the houses behind, but that was even more dangerous terrain, Morik knew, for though fewer potential assailants watched their passage, so too did fewer potential witnesses.
“He went out—all the boats went out to moor so they wouldn’t get cracked against the wharves,” Bellany said to him, her voice muffled by the wet cloak. “Stupid plan.”
“He didn’t, and he wouldn’t,” Morik replied. “He’s my coin and I’ve his word.”
“A pirate’s word.”
“An honorable man’s word,” Morik corrected, and he felt vindicated indeed when he and Bellany turned a corner of a rather large storehouse to see one ship still in tight against the docks, bucking the breakers that rolled in on the front of the gathering storm. One after another, those storms assaulted Luskan, a sure sign that the wind had changed and winter was soon to jump the Spine of the World and bring her fury to the City of Sails.
The couple hustled down to the wharves, resisting the urge to sprint in the open across the boardwalk. Morik kept them to the shadows until they reached the nearest point to Thrice Lucky’s berth.
They waited in the deep shadows of the inner harbor storehouses until another lightning strike creased the sky and lit the area, and they looked left and right. Seeing no one, Morik grabbed Bellany’s arm and sprinted straight for the ship, feeling vulnerable indeed as he and his beloved ran along the open pier.
When they got to the boarding plank, they found Captain Maimun himself, lantern in hand, waiting for them.
“Be quick, then,” he said. “We’re out now, or we’re riding it out against the dock.”
Morik let Bellany lead the way up the narrow wooden ramp, and went with her onto the deck and into Maimun’s personal quarters.
“A drink?” the captain asked, but Morik held up his hand, begging off.
“I haven’t the time.”
“You’re not coming out to mooring with us?”
“Kensidan won’t have it,” Morik explained. “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s pulling us all into Ten Oaks this night.”
“You’d trust your beautiful lady to a rogue like me?” Maimun asked. “Should I be offended?” As he spoke of her, both he and Maimun turned to Bellany, and she fit that description indeed at that moment. Bathed in the light of many candles, her black hair soaked, her skin sparkling with raindrops, there was no other way to describe the woman as she pulled herself out of her heavy woolen weathercloak.